


Scarlet Letter

by Anomy



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Bodyguard Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Ugly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:47:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26336659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anomy/pseuds/Anomy
Summary: Jaskier confronts the asshole messing with a woman's drink at the Arts Gala. Said asshole is actually a bodyguard doing his job and testing the drink. Awkward regret and even awkwarder flirting ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 111





	Scarlet Letter

**Author's Note:**

> For the September Modern AU Challenge created by relenafanel. The prompt was "Meet-Ugly"

Julian Alfred Pankratz, known to the Bay Area arts scene as Jaskier, was not the hero his child-self had dreamed of. He neither battled fires nor fought villains (except on stage). However, in his decade of performing in clubs, theatres, bars, parks and beaches he did occasionally find cause to come to the aid of those in need. After all, it took less than a second to spike a drink and even someone as keen-eyed as research scientist and silicon valley juggernaut Yennefer Vengerberg occasionally got distracted. Jaskier felt rage pulsing in his chest. After all the hard work he and Irina had done transforming the ballroom look into a feast for the eyes and senses, the guests should be able to relax their guard and enjoy themselves. Instead, Jaskier fumed at the harsh truth that, whether you were at a high-society gala for the arts than a seedy dive bar, assholes were everywhere. He strode towards the big man currently proving himself to be asshole-in-chief.

"Fuck off you predator!" At Jaskier’s yell, well-coiffed heads turned towards the confrontation. The silver-haired asshole paused in his movements, still holding Yennefer's glass. Gesticulating wildly, Jaskier turned towards his growing audience. "This man put something in a woman’s drink!" 

Gasps and whispers traveled through the crowd. Filled with righteous fury, Jaskier smacked the glass out of the man’s hands, pouring red wine all over his clothes. It was a pity the asshole wore all black, Jaskier thought, or else he might be marked with scarlet for his crimes. Perhaps the wine would stain his hands a bloody red. ( _out damned spot..._ )

Caught in this revery about the still-silent man's villainy, Jaskier startled at the feel of Yennefer-herself brushing past him. She looked as cool and collected as ever as she approached her would-be attacker. Jaskier readied himself to back her up if need be, but she only laughed. 

"You look like a wet rat Geralt. No need to look so glum, it wasn't a good year for that cabernet. People assume the best of the Mondavi name, but this batch was donated to charity for a reason." She turned her attention towards Jaskier and directed a wry look at his, exuberantly colored, outfit. "You can never judge quality by what’s on the label. I suppose you're with the foundation."

Say what you would about Jaskier, but he could read a room and he'd clearly misjudged something. Wincing, he put on his most apologetic and charming face. It was a face perfected on landlords and cuckolded spouses over the years. Priscilla would not be happy to lose a donor as influential and deep-in-the-pockets as Yennefer Vengerberg. He sketched a theatrical bow, "I'm Jaskier, an artist-in-residence sponsored by the good work of the foundation. I deeply apologize for the misunderstanding between me and your..." he looked puzzledly at the stoically sopping man,"... companion."

“Bodyguard,” clarified an elegant, chestnut-haired woman. She hooked her arm into Yennefer’s and gently guided the four of them away from the center of the onlookers. Getting the hint, the who’s who of Menlo Park began dispersing. "Yen, our handsome artist friend was trying to do the right thing. It isn’t his fault he's an idiot. It's the creative temperament you know." Her conspiratorial smile at Jaskier softened the harsh words. Gratified, he winked back at her. A deep voice interrupted them.

"Lambert's on his way.” Tall, glowery and apparently-not-a-predator spoke quietly but authoritatively. Giving the man a second look, Jaskier was dismayed to note that, objectively-speaking, Yennefer Vengerberg’s bodyguard was sex on two legs: hot, athletic sex that left you sore for days. The man - Geralt - seemed to notice Jaskier’s attention and met his eyes with a neutral expression on his brutally handsome face. Jaskier gulped.

After some efficient discussion between Geralt and Yennefer, Jaskier gathered that another bodyguard would be replacing Geralt at the gala. He guiltily eyed the man’s formalwear which had been nice, if a bit boring, before it got soaked in wine. Having taken a booze-sodden Lyft ride (or two) in his life, Jaskier knew how unpleasant it could be. When Yennefer and her companion wandered off with the new bodyguard he paused before following Geralt. 

“I have a green room!” At Jaskier’s brilliant conversational entree, Geralt paused. “With clothes - dry ones - if you’re into that kind of thing.” 

Geralt seemed confused by Jaskier’s completely sound logic and only hummed before turning back towards the door. Jaskier persisted.

“It’s only through those double doors. We brought more costumes than we’ll need for the night and something’s bound to fit you. Don’t let me be the man who sent you into the cold night in wet clothes. You’ll catch a cold - or a chill! Geralt, I couldn’t live with your death on my conscience.” This last bit of ridiculousness pulled a tiny, incredulous smile to Geralt’s lips and Jaskier beamed in return. The man was the picture of hardy health and not likely to succumb to Victorian vapors. Walking backwards, Jaskier led them to the staff entrance and down the hall to the makeshift green room for the evening. 

“Let’s see, this shirt was from a disturbing contemporary Ibsen-adaptation last Fall. It should fit, just don’t think of Valdo Marx dancing to Tom Petty. The image is burned into my retina.” There was a loud thud as he pulled down a large plastic tub. “Here’s the undergarments bin. Everything’s new and still in the package so take whatever you want. Our honor as a theatre company is predicated on having an endless supply of undergarments - you never know when you’ll need them. I promise I will find pants, maybe…” Jaskier’s voice cut off at the sight of a shirtless Geralt kicking off his trousers. Geralt looked up at the sudden silence.

“Oh. Should I change somewhere else?”

Jaskier kicked himself. “No. Sorry! You must be eager to be dry. I’ll um.” Jaskier made a nonspecific gesture and turned back to the racks of clothing. He pulled out a pair of likely-looking pants and thrust them at Geralt. Geralt looked amused by his behavior, but nodded his thanks. Jaskier turned around so the man could finish changing.

“You’re an actor.”

Despite the lack of apparent question mark, Jaskier divined that Geralt’s gruff words were meant to be a question. “Well, I’m a musician mostly, but sometimes I act or paint or clown. It all depends on the needs of the project. It’s the creating that I like.”

“And the destroying?” This time Geralt’s words had a teasing lilt, but Jaskier still felt a pang of guilt.

“I am sorry for pouring wine all over you. And the yelling, I-” He was cut off by Geralt’s firm voice.

“Don’t be sorry. You did a good thing. You shouldn’t second guess those instincts. We test our clients’ drinks for tampering, but next time - it won’t always be a bodyguard. Thank you for standing up.” Geralt, fully dressed now, came around to face Jaskier with warm, serious eyes. The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Caught in the moment, Jaskier reached out and linked hands with the beautiful, quietly intense man. Geralt squeezed his hand lightly back. Something buzzed and Geralt pulled away to grab his phone. “The agency car is waiting for me.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

The walk back out from the green room was quieter with an exciting new tension strumming through the air. All too soon, they were outside under the stars. Feeling strangely tongue-tied Jaskier kept peeking glances at Geralt, desperately hoping that this wasn’t the last time he’d see the man. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. Geralt moved towards the car.

“Wait!” Jaskier grabbed the sleeve of the ugly henley Geralt was wearing. Geralt paused and looked back at him expectantly, but Jaskier froze like a tongue-tied idiot. A tongue-tied idiot who needed to let go of the nice man’s sleeve right about -

An almost giddy smile lit up Geralt’s face, transforming into a cocky grin. He reached a hand into the back pocket of Jaskier’s dress pants. Not breaking eye contact, he used Jaskier’s thumb to unlock the screen and then typed in a number. Handing back the phone to a still-frozen Jaskier, he opened the car door, got in and closed the door. Jaskier blinked until the window rolled down. 

“Call me.” Geralt’s super suave moment only stunned Jaskier for a moment before the car pulled out of the driveway. Jaskier thought he heard cackling from the unseen driver. He watched the car disappear into the night before letting out a whoop. This night was way better than last year’s gala.


End file.
